


We’re Not Friends

by TheEclecticEccentric



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Getting Together, Low Self-Esteem, M/M, Pining, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:54:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEclecticEccentric/pseuds/TheEclecticEccentric
Summary: Aziraphale is offered a return to Heaven in exchange for abandoning his best friend. After six millennia of chasing his love, Crowley can’t take it anymore.





	1. Chapter 1

The shop door opened for him as soon as he stepped up to the threshold, welcoming him as if he lived there himself. He might as well, the amount of time he had spent on the premises in the last eleven years. Far too much time really, he should re-orient himself, give them both some space, give Azirapahale time to . . .

To what?

A smell hit his nose so harshly he almost staggered back, setting down the box he had brought on Azirapahles desk before he dropped it. Without thinking about it, his tongue poked the air, tasting it, now forked and serpentine.

It smelled . . . angelic. But without the familiarity, the cosiness of his angel’s scents, no, this was . . .

“Crowley, isn’t it?”

He barely had time to register the voice before he hit the ground, yelling out in pain as a force pushed him down painfully. A brilliant glow burned through his eyelids and he knew without looking that he was trapped inside a demonic summoning circle. Snarling, the demon forced his golden eyes open, sneering at the suit-clad figure looming above him.

“Archangel Asshole. How are we?”

Gabriel’s lips twitched up in the corner, the resulting smile neither friendly nor consolidating. “Better than you, creature. I was expecting the traitor Aziraphale but with how _close_ you two are, you’ll have to do.”

“What do you want?” Crowley demanded, resolutely Not Praying to Somebody that Azirapahle would a) not return until the Archangel left or b) came in a blaze of holy glory with some amazing trick up his sleeve, preferably one which would reduce Gabriel’s gloating face to oozy sludge on the wall. That was doubtful though, the splatter would get on the books.

“Aziraphale failed to return our rightful property when he absconded – ”

“You mean when you wankers failed to kill him.”

“Don’t test my patience, you pestilential _parasite_. The flaming sword – where is it?”

Crowley stared at him for a long moment, his sunglasses slowly slipping down his nose. Then –and this really wasn’t his fault – he burst out laughing. Heavy, wheezy, wrap-your-arms-around-yourself-for-support laughter.

“You mock me?!”

A few desperate gasps clogged up his throat before he was able to warble out , “Well, yeah. That’s Wars sword now, jackass, it belongs to the other side! You’re either really unobservant or just plain stupid! How did you miss that?”

Gabriel drew himself up to his full height, pulling on his grey blazer primly. “I don’t have to justify myself to you, abomination. But rest assured your friend will be brought to account for his carelessness with Heavens property. I always knew he had a perverse fixation on humans but to allow them access to the Almighty’s own –”

“Oh shut it, would you?” Crowley drawled, pulling himself up to his feet, carefully avoiding the barriers surrounding him. “The Almighty gave it to Aziraphale, so doesn’t that mean She judged him worthier than you, oh mighty Archangel?”

The fury on Gabriel’s face could be easily described as apocalyptic without hyperbole. A small, instinctive part of Crowley shrivelled up at the sight of it, but the rest of him carried his cocky aura flawlessness, smiling wickedly at the gaping stuck-up angel before him.

“You will not insult me thus,” Gabriel whispered, voice shaking while trying to control his rage, “I am the commander of the Heavenly Host, vastly superior to your soft, cowardly, traitorous – ”

“Oh fuck you!” Crowley snarled, “if anybody should be considered a traitor – ”

“Crowley?”

Both Archangel and demon froze, glaring daggers at each other, as Aziraphale walked in, the welcoming smile dying on his face as soon as he saw his ex-employer.

“Gabriel?”

“Angel,” Crowley called buoyantly, not blinking as he stared Gabriel down, “Do me a favour and pop the lock on this little trap, will ya?” he kicked at the edge of the circle, resolutely ignoring the sizzling sound it made against his boot.

Aziraphale slowly made his way into the bookshop, coming to stand at Crowley’s side, hand raised to counteract the circle without looking away from the Archangel.

“Stay your hand, Principality of Heaven,” Gabriel announced grandly, an odd look coming into his inhuman purple eyes. “I have a proposition for you.”

“One that doesn’t involve imprisoning my friend, surely?” Aziraphale questioned, raising an eyebrow, although he did indeed pause before releasing Crowley.

“Your real friends are waiting for you, Aziraphale. All your sins can be forgiven, with but a few deeds.”

“. . . Beg your pardon?” Aziraphale asked in tanden to Crowleys “Hurh?” of disbelief at the bald-faced lie.

“We are prepared to offer you complete acceptance into our ranks once more if you fulfil our requests. Firstly, return the flaming sword to me and secondly, cast off the Fallen you fraternize yourself with. Remove his stain from your being and all will be forgiven.”

“He’s lying, angel,” Crowley snarled, “Not two seconds before you walked in he was calling you a traitor – ”

“Silence, demon!”

“You know he’s full of shit and always has been – ”

“Do not give in to his temptation. Return to your rightful place.”

“His rightful place is with _me_!” Crowley shouted, “Against you and your legion of murderous assholes – on our side!”

“You don’t have a side!” Gabriel snapped, face wrinkled in disdain. “You are Fallen, forgotten! Unwanted and disgraced, even by your own filthy kin! Have you not spent millennia chasing him, tempting him, only to fail? I heard it from his own lips, that he _doesn’t even like you_!”

It felt like someone had punched him in the gut, as Aziraphales words from the bandstand echoed in his head. Distantly, he heard his angel say something beside him, but couldn’t work out what it was.

_Your angel?_ A snide voice, one that Crowley had spent centuries ignoring, whispered in his ear. _Since when was he **your** angel, “foul fiend”? He hasn’t even let you out of the circle yet . . . maybe he never will._

“How many millennia do you have to spend,” Gabriel continued, riding roughshod over whatever it was Aziraphale was saying, staring the paling Crowley down as if there were no on else in the room, “being rejected over and over before you realise he will never return your feelings?”

“. . . Feelings?” the principality said into the deafening silence.

“He lusts for you, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said disgustedly, “he wants to corrupt you – ”

“Love.”

Crowley stared into space over Gabriel’s shoulder, seeing nothing. He didn’t know what made his say it, what made him admit it outloud for the first time in six thousand years, only that hearing Gabriel speak for him clawed at his insides like fragments of glass ground into an open wound.

“I love you, Aziraphale.”

He felt like he couldn’t breath, his Adams apple bobbing up and down frantically as he tried to gasp in some air, vaguely wondering if this is what it felt like to die.

“Gabriel, BEGONE!”

A searing bright light snapped Crowley out of his reverie, flinging up his arms to cover his eyes and protect his face as Gabriel roared in rage.

All too soon, the light was gone and it was just the two of them left in the bookshop. Crowley took a long time lowering his arms and even then did not look at Aziraphale.

“. . . How long have you had a banishing spell for angels in here?” he finally said, desperate to break the heavy, oppressive silence laying down on them, crushing him.

“Since we averted the apocalypse. It seemed the – ah – prudent thing to do.”

“And you didn’t think to use that as soon as you saw him?” Crowley demanded, scathingly. The rush of anger was familiar, hot and powerful, to him, but not like this. Not aimed at Aziraphale, not _real_ wrath. Not in six thousand years had he ever been this angry at the angel.

“I thought it would be better to hear him out.”

His heart stopped. Being a demon, he didn’t actually need the blasted thing, which made the horrible effect of its breaking in half all the more devastating.

“Hear him out. _Hear him out_. Oh, of course, Aziraphale, what a jolly good idea. Yes, why not, get him a plate of biscuits and a spot of tea while he rips me open and leaves me to bleed on your settee! The two of you can have a right old laugh until you’re ready to reunite with the old wankers by smiting me yourself!”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale yelped, aghast.

_“Let me out of this circle!”_

The angel flinched, his blue eyes wide and horrified, snapping his fingers together without thinking. The glowing runes surrounding the demon fizzled and died in an instant. Breathing heavily, Crowley stared at their remains, wishing – not for the first time in his long, long life – that he could be snuffed out just like that.

“ . . . Crowley, I – ”

“Don’t,” the demon said, stepping backwards until his back hit the writing desk. The gift he had brought jostled under the movement and hit the ground with loud thump in the silence space. “Just – don’t.”

He breathed in and out, trying to remember that he didn’t need to breathe and finding that it didn’t help much.

“All this time – _six thousand years_, I’ve spent helping you, having fun with you, saving you. Even when you hurt me. Even when I knew Hell would torture me in ways you can’t even fathom just for talking to you, I never stopped. I _love_ you. And you _listened to him_?”

Tears were trailing down Aziraphales cheeks as he stared at Crowley, desperately reaching out to him, his face twisting in anguish as the demon shrank away from his touch.

“I didn’t – Crowley, listen – ”

“I’m done, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. “I’m done.”

And in the blink of an eye, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I get a high-five for updating this so soon? 
> 
> . . . No? Anyone? Okay then.

It took hours for him to stop crying, staring mutely at the spot his best friend had vanished from his sight, possibly forever. When his face was soaked and his eyes were raw, Aziraphale finally pulled himself away. Now that Heaven had made a move, it would be best to put up angel-warding sigils. Would Crowley think to do that, in the state he was in?

He stopped, took in a deep breath as slowly as possible and let it out again. It wouldn’t do to think of Crowley right now; he was hurt and angry and obviously needed time to himself.

**“I’m done Aziraphale.”**

Another pause, another breath, closing his eyes this time. _He didn’t mean it. He never meant it, not even at the literal end of the world. He just needs some space, that’s all._

** _“_ ** **We have nothing whatsoever in common. I don’t even like you!” “You dooo!”**

_He knows I didn’t mean it, he knew it was Heavens thrall_, Aziraphale thought as he set the sigils on the north, south, east and west walls respectively. _He said it himself, refuted me even as I pushed him away._

**“We’re on our side!” “There is no “our side”, Crowley! It’s over!”**

_He came back that time_, the angel reminded himself as he wished away what remained of the demonic circle and bent to pick up a box on the floor, fallen when Crowley fell back – _flinched_ away from him, as if his touch would burn. _He’ll come back now. Eventually. When he’s ready. Be patient. Wait for him as he’s waited for you._

**“Fraternizing?! . . . I have plenty of people to _fraternize_ with, angel!”**

Aziraphale opened the box and froze. A hand slowly made its way to his mouth, covering his trembling lips with equally shaky fingers. Inside was a first edition copy of _The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_, a scrawling signature on the cover page. Small dark chocolate-filled macarons, expertly baked, filled a Tupperware tub wedged beside the book, so as not to damage either. Not two days ago he had mentioned expanding the children’s section of his shop. This very morning he spoke of a craving for French sweets he couldn’t put his finger on. And Crowley . . .

**“We can go off together!” “Together? . . . Listen to yourself!”**

_Don’t_, he thought to himself, putting down the precious new addition to his collection and turning his back on the treats. They were a reminder he couldn’t handle right now. He walked in a daze through the shelves as if he had never been here before and finally plucked up a book at random, trying to distract himself. _Leave him be. If you go round now, you’ll make it worse._

**“Did you go to Alpha Centauri?” “Nah . . . things changed. I lost my best friend.”**

Aziraphale cried out, spun on his heel and threw the book as hard as he could. He distantly heard the shatter of glass as it hit the window and cracked a pane, his eyes screwed up against the fresh tears stinging his already reddened eyes.

No. No more. Gabriel was right about one thing: Crowley had chased after Azirapahle for years, centuries, millennia. Always helping, always listening, always _caring_ in a way no one else had ever had. And he had done nothing to deserve such devotion, not even now, when he was free to . . .

To what?

_To make him happy_, the voices he had ignored for years said. Since Crowley hobbled painfully into a church to save him. Probably before that. _To love him as you always have._

He had to find Crowley.

***

He was driving around in circles. Teeth gritted, tears threatening to gather in his serpentine eyes, hands jerking the wheel wildly while the Bentley mostly drove itself, the surprised screams of late night foot traffic almost penetrating through the red haze.

“How dare he?” Crowley hissed, his body shuddering with the urge to sprout scales, slink away into a forgotten dark place and lay there for eternity. “Listening to Gabriel! _Gabriel,_ for Satan’s sake!”

He drove for ten minutes in one direction, five minutes in the next. Hide in the park, that will calm you down, sit where you and Aziraphale – illegal U-turn. Go to the Ritz, get horrendously drunk, maybe take some desert back to Az – drive over the grass, skid in place, back you go. His flat? His own place surely, the angel never went there, apart from the night after the Apocalypse when you sat up together all night –

A scream of pure frustration tore out of his mouth and his slammed on the accelerator, pushing even his own boundaries for speed, trying futilely to race away from his torment. Years, moments, seconds of joy and contentment, irreversibly tainted, flashed in front of his eyes in excruciating detail. All he had done for him, all they had done together, all they had meant to each other.

_You mean **nothing** to him_, the hated, persuasive voice returned, _you are Fallen, filthy, unworthy, a snake eating its own tail in a useless paradox_. _A demon who can love but who is incapable of **being** loved._

“SHUT UP!” He screamed, slamming his hands over on the steering wheel, again and again. “Shut up, shut up, _shut up_!”

_Bereft of God’s love for being yourself. If Mother cannot love you, then who else can? Perhaps this is Her punishment, Her REAL punishment for being who you are, Falling only to rise and fall again._

Crowley slammed on the breaks.

The Bentley screeched to halt, sparks flying out from under the tires. It idled when it finally coasted to a stop, lights shining out onto an empty street, stretching ahead of him like the long passage of eternity. One he would now spend utterly alone. No late-night giggles over wine in a cosy backroom, no stimulating chats over lunch, no quiet afternoons in comfortable silence feeding the ducks. Just . . . eternity.

He didn’t even try to stop the tears that sprang from his eyes, bleeding down his face. A flash of moonlight on metal pulled his gaze and . . . of course.

Even while actively avoiding their places, he had taken himself to the worst one of all. The backdrop of the time he looked into Aziraphale’s eyes and saw fondness, awe and appreciation staring back at him. The one time he allowed himself to think his angel loved him back before it faded away, back into the boundaries of The Arrangement.

He was parked outside The Church. He didn’t even know it had been rebuilt after the bomb over seventy years ago.

He didn’t feel himself get out of the car, didn’t know if he locked it or even closed the door; he had no recollection of pushing past the gates or stepping up the stones to cross the threshold. The first flash of awareness he had was the burning sensation as he touched consecrated ground. He flinched, hissed, drew his foot back and hesitated. Stepped in once more, deliberately pressing down harder. One foot at a time, pain licking up his skin, his heels clicked on the rejuvenated stone. Down the aisle he went, towards the dais, staring up at the cross that stung his eyes like sunlight and not looking away.

The moon shone through a stain glass window, illuminating the still water in the font.

“Are You guiding me?” he wondered aloud, his feet screaming at him as he made his way over. “Is this Your judgement? Or a test?”

He could smell the danger shimmering in its deceptively calm waters, every atom of his occult being screaming at him to leave, to back away.

“I wonder if I failed.”

Crowley raised his hand and brought it down towards the water.

_“NO!”_

The entire font was unceremoniously torn from the ground and thrown into the furthest wall. Crowley hissed, spell broken as some of the blessed liquid splashed back towards him, leaping away instinctively and being dragged further as a hand seized the back of his collar and pulled him away. He gathered his feet up under him hastily and wrenched himself from the grasp, spinning to face the angel.

“What do you want?!”

“What were you thinking?!” Aziraphale shouted back, pale and scared and visibly angry.

“Thought I’d go for a moonlight stroll,” Crowley sneered, his legs starting to vibrate under him from the effort of keeping still, forcing himself to look languid and uncaring, as if the consecrated ground were not destroying his flesh where he stood.

“In a _church_?!”

“I’ll do whatever I want, angel! And right now, I want to be as far away from _you_ as possible!” he snarled, pushing past the celestial being as he stormed out of the church. The effect of stepping away from the consecrated ground was staggering – literally, his legs collapsed beneath him as soon as he reached the stone stairs.

Hands reached under his arms to steady him. He pulled away so fast he had to lean on the walls to not fall flat on his face.

“Crowley – ”

“Piss off!”

“No! I will not leave you while you’re in this state!”

“What state is that? No longer in denial? No longer deluding myself that you actually cared about me? No longer fawning all over you?!”

“You are a danger to yourself right now,” Aziraphale protested, hands flapping the air uselessly as he fought the urge to pull Crowley close, unsure how the demon would respond if he did, “I cannot in good conscience leave you to your own devices like this.”

“Oh, so I’m _charity work_ now? Well done you,” he clapped loudly and sarcastically, “An excellent demonstration of your love for all of God’s creatures, no matter how flawed and foul they are. Don’t be put out, I’m relieving you of a tiresome burden!”

“You. Are not. _A burden_,” Aziraphale growled in a voice Crowley had never heard before, angelic wrath echoing in his voice.

“Well, what am I then?! A temptation? A distraction? A foul fiend to thwart?! What am I?!”

“My best friend!” the angel cried. “You are my best friend Crowley!”

The demon wanted to retort, he really did, but even centuries of self-loathing couldn’t warp the distraught, pleading way Aziraphale was looking at him. Crowley managed to glare for a few seconds and then dropped his gaze with a sigh that took all the breath from his human-like lungs. The stood in silence for a lingering, choking moment, at a temporary impasse, neither willing to speak first for fear of what would follow.

As always, Crowley was the brave one.

“Why did you listen to him?” he whispered. “You know he only tells lies.”

“I would never have betrayed you,” Aziraphale said instantly, “Please believe me. I know I’ve given you many reasons to doubt me, but I wouldn’t, not now I’m free to be loyal to you. It just . . . seemed more politic to hear him out rather than antagonise him right away. We’re not actually invincible you know.”

Oh Crowley knew that all too well, now that his heart was trying to rip its way out of his chest.

“I was _always_ loyal to you,” he finally said, glowering at the ground behind his glasses. “Before I was free to be.”

This silence was somehow even worse than the last. Crowley risked a glance and saw Aziraphale was looking off to the side, avoiding Crowley’s miserable face.

“I’m sorry I’m not as brave as you,” the angel finally said, “I’m sorry that I made you feel this way. I’m sorry I left you alone for so long. I will never do it again, for as long as you’ll have me.”

Crowley felt tears welling up again and scowled, masking his dashing the cursed water away with an adjustment of his glasses. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Aziraphale – I. I want to have you for eternity. Can you really swear to stay by side forever?”

Fingers ghosted his snake tattoo. He jerked his head to the side to stare at the angel. He drew back his hand just until the disappointment came into Crowley’s eyes and then he brought both hands back up, stroking his fingertips along the demons cheekbones and into his hair, palms slowly coming to rest on his cheeks.

“Eternity would be torment unless spent by your side, my darling,” Aziraphale said.

Crowley let out a shaky breath, his own hands gripping into his trousers until his knuckles whitened as the angel tilted his head down to rest their foreheads together, eyes slipping closed as they breathed heavily.

“Don’t just say what I want to hear,” Crowley threatened half-heartedly.

“I love you,” the angel replied softly. “I love you, Crowley. I swear to you my love and loyalty for now and all time.”

“Alright, alright, don’t need the dramatics,” the demon muttered, feeling off-kilter and not knowing how to set himself to rights.

“What do you need, beloved?” Aziraphale asked, pushing his sunglasses up to stare into his serpentine eyes. “Please tell me, I don’t know what I’m doing here. I just want to make you happy.”

“. . . A kiss would be a start.”

Screwing up his eyes, Aziraphale hastened to obey, pressing his mouth uncomfortably hard to Crowley’s in a sudden chaste kiss and pulling back just as abruptly, eyes popping open to check the demon’s reaction.

“. . . That was terrible,” Crowley admitted, lips tingly despite his declaration, his lungs clearing and his voice choking on a laugh even as the angel looked distressed. “We had better practise that. Over and over – and over and over and over again. To get it right.”

“And then we’ll do it some more,” Azirapahle gasped, a brilliant smile lighting up his face as his own slightly hysterical giggles started to bubble up, “for eternity.”

“For eternity,” Crowley replied, leaning in for a much better kiss than before.

Of course, it paled to the one that came after and the one after that. And the one after that, lost in the torrent of vastly improved kisses as they stood on the stoop of a rebuilt church, laughing breathlessly and clutching each other as the starts wheeled overhead and a new day began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think of a "Five Times Aziraphale Tried To Court Crowley and One Time He Succeeded"? I fancy some fluff and humour after this.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, just loved the ending. Chapter two will be up soon - I want Aziraphale to make the first move; its always Crowley chasing him and that's not fair.


End file.
